Carousel
by miikka-xx
Summary: Russia, Belarus, Ukraine and life. This is how we rise. This is how we break. russiaukrainebelarus. complete.


**miikka-xx:** omigod, i thought i'd never find a yuri pairing that i liked as much as my yaoi otps. like, honestly, anything i draw of aph turns out to be them, involving superblushing!Natalya and superoblivious!Katya.

**Title:** carousel  
**Rating:** T+  
**Summary:** Russia, Belarus, Ukraine and life. This is how we rise. This is how we break. belarusukrainerussia. complete.  
**Disclaimer:** if i owned hetalia, huh? everyone would be having sexual relations with everyone else, i suspect.  
**Warning(s):** threesome! yuri! het! f-bomb! Possibly (a lot) OOCness.

* * *

_carousel_

* * *

General Winter is a not a nice person.

That is Natalya's first thought when she is discovered by them. They live together in a tent strung in the middle of an imminent blizzard, always following them. It is like the General's temper, harsh and white and so destructive yet beautiful when it is over. He is an old man with a short temperament and straight back. Wrinkles line his leather-like face and multiply when he smiles wistfully at times.

He wears an old uniform and does not speak of where he came from. He chalks it up as a wasteland and tells them not to pry into the affairs of others. In the beginning, Natalya is satisfied with this life, living with the other two, both older than her but still so young and innocent.

One is boy with a childish smile and glittering eyes. He tells her he likes flowers and the sun and they only got to see them once in a while so she had to make sure her eyes were open at all times. The other is girl with dirty hair and a welcoming grin. She makes fists and laughs openly and tells her that one day, she'll be just as strong as the General so work hard, dear Natalya, _work hard_.

* * *

When General Winter sleeps, the wind and snow quiet into a peaceful white landscape. And, if he's asleep long enough, the sun will melt it away and they will see the first patch of colour in days. Bright splashes of yellow and green and red and blue.

Natalya is much too young to appreciate such instances but she laughs and plays with her two siblings just the same. They flutter and trip and soar over the melting snow. Ivan grins widely, picks flowers and makes chains, Katya climbs trees and swings from branches, wet with sweat and laughing. Natalya stays on the ground, trying to whistle with grass between her fingers and she watches them both.

A dozen daisies are set on the top of her head and a piece of a branch is her staff and the call her a princess, a queen, a ruler so beautiful.

Natalya laughs with them and watches the innocent smile on Ivan's lips and how high up Katya is, on that tree branch, brandishing a stick and a hand on her hip. She tells her that is she doesn't work hard she'll never get as high up as this tree. So, c'mon, dear Natalya, come for me, to this unreachable place that I stand upon.

* * *

General Winter does not know their names. They do not know their own names. They ask him and pester him and wait until a great blizzard finally quiets down before he relents.

"You, boy," his voice booms out when his old, leathery hand is placed on the blond head, "are gracious child. You will be known as Ivan." Ivan perks up, his eyes glittering and his face breaking into a smile. He turns towards his sisters and laughs.

"Thank you," he beams towards the old man. The old man nods once and turns towards the older girl.

"Girl, come here," he commands. She shuffles forward, trying to smooth her dirty hair and looking apprehensive. He swats her fluttering hands away and smoothes her unruly locks himself.

"You are quite untouched, girl," he tells her softly, "pure, is what you are. You shall be Katya." She says the same to herself, mouthing it out and feeling her tongue and lips curl around the foreign word.

"Katya..." she murmurs before thanking him and stepping back. Finally, General Winter beckons for the youngest to come towards him. She is timid in her steps and peers at him through her eyelashes.

"A beauty you will be," he mutters to himself, a deep guttural sound and he puts his hand on top of her head all the same.

Heavy. It is heavy and it carries so much weight on her little frame. It is warm though, and seeps through her hair, right down to her shivering little toes. She does something daring and touches his hand. Her petite fingers wraps around his hand. She can only manage to curl her hand around two fingers. The General slips his hand away from her hair and lets her cradle it against her chest. It is so scarred, wrinkled, old... She kisses the back of his hand, a gesture of respect and admiration and love of this aged, wistful man.

"The day we found you, little one," he begins, and his voice makes her shake with it's power, "was the day a lord was born. They call it something beautiful. Natalya."

* * *

They follow him as he travels across the globe, bringing his wrath and majesty to the lands. He wreaks havoc on the glittering lights of France, brings freezing winds to the cobblestone streets of England. He crashes through Belgium and Denmark and Norway and Switzerland, skimming the borders of Asia. Unknown lands with red-skinned people of feathers and tents take his anger in full stride, braving each day with large fires and fur clothing.

Along the way, Ivan falls in love with a flower, Katya discovers the quiet solitude of knitting and Natalya is caught in a mirror.

He discovers a beautiful, golden petaled fower and watches it move with sun. In the end, he plucks three out, tucking two between his sisters' hair and the pocket of the General. He is entranced by the colour, by the warmth they seem to give off. Ivan's first love is the sun; warmth, light. His second love is the sunflower and he claims for himself. Everything he does is for the heat.

Katya discovers General Winter sewing a button and asks if he needs help. She aids in slipping the thread through the hole and pricking her fingers, leaving little dark dots on his uniform. The general kisses her finger and wraps a small piece of cloth around it. She is the one who never gives, who always tries her best. So he buys her knitting needles and gray wool. She works through the night, only to unravel it in the morning and start over.

Natalya finds a broken shard of a mirror in their tent once and looks at it. She gasps in surprise at the eye staring back at her. She tries to touch it and her fingers appear there too. She shows her sister and she laughs. Stand back, Natalya, don't get too caught up. Look big, look at the possibilities. You're far enough, Natalya, do you see now?

She is a pretty little thing, with light, light hair and pale complexion. But when she looks at Katya, holding the shard, she thinks, perhaps, beauty is not found in broken mirrors but in the laughing, open face of her sister, love in her eyes and determination in the wool all over her lap.

Work hard, Natalya, to become as beautiful as me. To become as strong as me. You have to catch up to me.

* * *

General Winter leaves them, shivering in a little tent, disappearing into a snow drift.

They hear screams and the howl of the wind and wonder where he's gone. She wonders if the old man will be alright, if he can stand up to the fighting they're having way off. The wind turns turbulent, lashing out. The snow piles up, making them fit into each other in the tent as it hissed and creaked against the weight.

Ivan is crying, hot tears dripping down his cheeks onto the top of Natalya's head as she presses her back against his chest. He holds onto her tight, sobbing and scared. The warmth cools and she wonders if that's what death feels like. She wonders if that heavy palm that had once touched her with such affection has gone cold.

Katya embraces them both, letting Natalya bury her head in her shoulder and Ivan cling on the warmth. She does not cry but she wraps her half-finished scarf around each of their necks. It's long, meant for the General but he's gone now and he might not come back.

Be strong, you must be strong. Her words envelop them all when she whispers them. Perhaps that's when Natalya fell in love with them. When the insistent whisper from her sister's lips ghosted warmly across her cheeks and made Ivan stiffen and tighten his hold.

Be strong, Natalya, be strong.

* * *

Eventually they grow in size and knowledge. General Winter has abandoned them somewhere. Across the world, with Asia looming nearby. Winters still sweep the land but they see no sign of their General. Perhaps he had retired, this pseudo-father of theirs. Perhaps he had grown too old to invade the lands with his mighty, beautiful wrath.

They start to fight, start to build, start to start something in this cold wasteland. The people ease and calm when a new ruler comes. They name it Russia and Katya knits a flag. It is three colours that represents them each. Red is for Ivan, the Russian, who now had a penchant for fighting and a sanity too little to be of any use to him now. Blue is for Katya, who is destined to become Ukraine, now taller, body filling into a woman shape and still the same dirty hair and the same open smile. The white is for Natalya. Pure, untouched, little Natalya, who was an enchanting beauty that caught the eyes of many other nations, with her homemade frocks and black boots.

Ivan is still in love with the sun and he promises that the sunflower will become their official flower. He promises many things, like peace and prosperity, as wars dirty up the land and stain the snow with red. He grooms each likely leader to help his people but the fighting doesn't seem to stop. His people fight off General Winter's legacy, whoever he is, when he crashes down upon them and taking lives, winter after winter.

Katya cuts her long hair, each beautiful, muddied lock falling silently on to the snow and the knife glitters in her hand. Her bangs are chopped off and she looks like a boy now, with her trousers and suspenders and white, dirty button-up. She leaves the knife at the bottom of the snow drift, walking away, joining Ivan as he watches more of his people die.

Natalya digs for that knife, so deep in the snow that her hands shake and turn violet. She grabs at the blade, cuts herself but tucks it in her boot. She can still smell her sister when the wind blows each strand into the air. It smells like sunshine and laughter and the summer where she stood on that tree branch, with childish glee at how far they were.

Work hard, Natalya, or I'm going to run away and you'll never catch up, dear, little Natalya, and then you'll always be left behind, pure, sweet, Natalya.

* * *

Even though the mansion is big, even if the rooms are infinite and wings can be added and it can easily house a few dozen people, they share one room. The bed is vast and grand, every bit majestic as Ivan himself, as he's grown so big and intimidating. But here, in this room, he no longer exists. He is the boy who never had a name and longed for the General's sleep so he could see the blue sky and bask in the warm sunshine.

Natalya watches as Katya strokes her little brother's hair carefully when he presses against her in the bed. She whispers things, beautiful things, in his hair, about the world and the future and how Russia will become something grand and infinite. A land that will stretch on forever.

"We'll become one with the world, Ivan, and then they will see who you are," she tells him. Natalya, brushing her hair in front of the vanity mirror eyes them with envy.

"Don't bother with that, brother," she interrupts, "the world will become one with us, won't they, dear sister?"

Katya doesn't reply but she watches her sister a long time, until Ivan shifts and parts, sitting on the bed with wide open eyes.

"With me, sister?" He looks like a little boy, all anticipation and apprehension. Natalya gets up and crawls up on the bed behind him, curling her arms around the frame of her brother so her chin rests upon his shoulder.

"Why shall they not?" she teases, her mouth kissing his ear, "you are Russia, brother, large and vast and powerful."

"Natalya," warns her sister but it's too late now. The idea is in his head now, that calculating gleam is in his eyes. But this is their bedroom and Ivan is the boy before Ivan so it vanishes quickly, replaced with happiness and contentment and satisfaction.

"You are always right, dear sister," he tells Natalya, who clenches her thighs together when he kisses her.

Katya leaves the room as Ivan pulls off her dress, nipping at her neck.

And when Natalya cries out, she thinks of her sister.

Oh, I've worked hard, dear sister, and he is mine now, pretty Katya, so I've beaten you because I have Ivan, dear innocent Ivan, the most grand country in the world.

I've beaten you, my pure, sweet Katya.

* * *

Their bedrooms smells of gunpowder and sweat. It tastes of the sharp metal blade and coppery taste of blood. It is always cold in the room, and in the winter, the puff of breaths is visible against the dim lighting.

They warm themselves with a glass of vodka that burns a trail down their throats and find heat when they press skin against skin. Natalya finds it when her back is pressed against Ivan's chest and her forehead tucked in between Katya's neck and shoulder. She savours the fire that her brother sometimes traces down her body, his lips and hands worshipping her pretty little frame.

And when Katya is there, too intoxicated by the sight or by the vodka, they will never know, she will claim Ivan's mouth as her own and trace patterns up her sister's leg. And Natalya is always crushed in the middle by their heat, by the sweat and the fire of her brother and sister.

And she realises that Katya had Ivan long before he had kissed her. That Katya had not only claimed Ivan's mouth, she had his soul and heart and mind. So Natalya will play all the tricks she knows. And she will watch others at this game of love to learn more. She learns how to use her tongue, her fingers, the ambience her hair creates when she straddles one of them and shields them with a veil of her light, light hair so much like silk.

Natalya becomes adept at the game they play between the sheets but she never wins. When Ivan comes to her, he fucks her, ruthlessly from behind with a twisted smile on his lips. And when he claims Katya's body, it's slow and sensual and makes her heart twist and tighten with envy at the beauty of her sister's face when she releases.

Oh, Natalya, my dear, sweet Natalya, you'll have to work harder than that to steal what has always been mine.

* * *

Ivan will never know that he's is the prize of their game. Katya will never know she's already won. Natalya will never accept that she was never meant to be there. And she knows she's lost when her sister claims her people want a Ukraine, a country separate yet infinitely close to Russia.

Because Ivan's there, pleading and begging and on the verge of crying to stop her. Katya refuses time and time again. Her people want this, her people beg her for this. She must answer to them, must become someone for them. Maybe one day, Natalya will understand what her sister announces but now, watching them through the crack of their bedroom door, she's jealous.

Jealous when Ivan crushes his sister towards him, fucks her against the wall as she cries, hot tears spilling down her cheeks, still claiming that she will be independent and he won't stop her.

"Don't you love me sister?" he asks her wickedly, raking his fingers through her hair that's cut short like his.

"Oh, god, Ivan, please, no," she arches, her mouth runs on, "please, Ivan, don't. You can't stop me, b-brother, ah- please, ah, Ivan!"

And she sags against the wall, with her brother cradling her so delicately, as he takes her limp body and lays it on the bed. And he worships her with delicate kisses, murmuring apologies over and over again.

Natalya grits her teeth and endures it because she's Katya, she's always been Katya, the one who stood ten feet high on the tree branch, looking too beautiful for words, whispering things to her during the worst blizzard of their lives and stealing the one thing she thought she had.

Katya, perfect Katya, one day you'll regret this.

* * *

When she becomes Belarus, it's because she can no longer endure the pain of ignoring her people's cries. She finally relents and admits to Ivan that she will be leaving him soon. And Ivan, sweet Ivan, takes her hand and kisses it along with her cheeks and finally mouth. He kisses her like a lover and she responds because she thinks this hollow shell in the bedroom after Katya left had finally been filled.

But she is wrong because he pulls away quickly after and ruffles her hair affectionately.

"Go, dear sister," he says and that's all the permission she needs.

* * *

Finally, Ukraine shows up at her door and Natalya has no choice but to let her in.

"Belarus," she smiles, "'White Russia', right?"

Natalya twitches, "Thank you." The conversation promptly dies when Katya finally lets her smile drop. Her hand finds it's way to her shoulder.

"You were so cold those last decades, sister dear," she looks concerned but shakes it off, watching her curiously. Natalya smiles coldly and ushers her into a smartly furnished office. She watches her sister seat herself, looking the same as ever with her dirty boy-like hair and trousers.

And maybe that's all it takes. To know that there's no Ivan anymore to get between them. That they've always been the same, before the name and before Russia. That Katya has always been the evil dragon in the treetop and she's always been the magical princess with daisy chains and somewhere along the way,they fell in love with their names and their titles yet, perhaps, none of it mattered.

I'll never catch up to you, dear Katya, but I'll break you and take what I can and I will never give it back, sweet Katya.

Because I hate you, my pure Katya.

But she's still bitter and jealous and hates her and wants to see her break. So when Katya feels her sister's nails dig into her shoulders and her mouth occupied by a pair of ravenous, angry lips, she is not surprised. But she won't break, not when her trousers disappear and Natalya is bare and pushing her against the cushions of the couch.

"I hate you, sister of mine," growl Natalya against her skin as she pushes up against her. Katya grins and arches and feels tears prick at her eyes.

"Ivan was ours to share, sweet Natalya," she gasps out. Natalya narrows her eyes and rocks up against her.

"Shut up, sister, just shut the hell up."

And when she makes Katya come, her face is more beautiful than when she's with Ivan.

* * *

**an:** such a gorgeous pairing. i love them so much. and who am i to resist one of the hottest threesomes in hetalia? next to, say, AustriaHungaryPrussia. yum.  
drop a line to know what you think. even a simple, 'it was good' or 'it was bad' is good enough for me. :)


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